


Every Agent Needs Formalwear

by WarriorLoverInc



Series: A Spy's Essential Guidebook to Life [2]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Formalwear, Gen, i just wanted Alex in a tux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorLoverInc/pseuds/WarriorLoverInc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re right,” Ben deliberated with faux contemplation. “That tuxedo looks downright evil. I’m sure the moment you put it on it’ll strangle you with its lapels.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Agent Needs Formalwear

“I need £600."

Alex choked on his rice puff cereal. “What?” 

“I told you,” Jack repeated with a roll of her eyes, “I need six – hundred – pounds.” 

“You don’t need to talk to me like I’m hard of hearing…” Alex muttered huffily. 

It was six in the morning, an odd time for either of them to be awake, and neither of them was exactly wide-eyed or bushy-tailed. Jack rubbed sleep from her eyes, smearing mascara, and Alex squinted his dim orbs, the light lengthening the heavy shadows hanging below. 

The red-head squinted back. “Don’t look at me like that, Rider.” 

“I just had to make sure you were real.” He massaged his forehead wearily. “Isn’t this why you put me in charge of money? So you didn’t have the chance to blow it all? What in the world would you need £600 for anyway?” 

Jack took a seat at the end of the kitchen table, placing her purse on the tabletop with a restrained finesse. “I’m going on a date tomorrow.” 

The tension in the room visibly thickened with her statement. Alex’s cereal forgotten, his intense gaze drilled holes through his pseudo-family’s eyes. Jack drew her shoulders up, sensing a fight. 

“No.” 

“You can’t stop me, Alex. I’ll date if I want.” 

“You do remember what happened the last time—” 

“I remember!” she burst out, shielding her eyes with shaking hands. It wasn’t clear if the emotion was irritation or sorrow. “Now give me the debit card!” 

Hesitantly, Alex pulled the “family” debit card from a kitchen drawer without getting up. Jack accepted the card without a word, composed for the moment, and made motions to leave. Before she could, Alex rose abruptly and grasped her wrist. 

“You know I just worry about you, Jack.” 

A somber smile stole her lips as she gently slipped from his calloused hand. “I know.” She paused, facing him to clasp his hand instead. “But it should be I that am worried for you, Alex.” 

He hated to see her so pained, so motherly. Jack had originally come to Britain to attend law school, and here she had given up her dreams to care for Alex. They were more than friends, less than lovers: they were siblings. It was natural of her to turn his statements around; she was the elder of the two after all. But Alex was no longer a naïve young boy. He didn’t fall for innocent façades, he didn’t live in the moment, and he couldn’t relax. He was Alex Rider, boy spy, trained mentally and physically practically from birth for the job he did now. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t live under and obey the jurisdiction of anyone anymore. His nature had changed, and not exactly for the best. Jack on the other hand was the same sisterly ginger as ever. After what happened with her last “boyfriend” there was no way he was letting her see another man ever again. 

But how was he supposed to say no when he almost made her cry? 

Alex dumped his dishes in the sink moments after Jack departed. He nearly jumped out of his skin as the telephone rang. With a muttered curse he grabbed the device from its wall-mounted cradle and answered with the usual: “Rider’s.” “Alex!” exclaimed a familiar voice joyfully, distorted by the tinny phone quality. When the voice received no response for several seconds, it queried: “Hello?” 

“Do I know you?” Alex replied. 

“Pssh! Have you forgotten me already, Rider?” the voice teased. “It’s Ben.” More silence. “Ben Daniels.” 

“Ben?” Alex exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you in weeks—no—months. Why call now?” 

“Actually I—” 

“Wait,” Alex interrupted, suspicion coloring his tone, “how’d you get my phone number. I never gave it to you.” 

“All I did was—” 

“Let me guess,” Alex interrupted the poor man again, “the Bank asked you to call me.” 

Now it was Ben’s turn to be silent. “… You’re a smart kid, Alex.” He sounded remorseful. 

“Thanks for the compliment.” Alex deadpanned. 

“I’m outside your house. You’d better come with me.” 

“I never gave—” 

“The Bank, Alex, the Bank.” was Ben’s sighed reply. 

“… Of course.” And then Alex hung up, house keys in hand, scribbled note on the counter, shoes laced and telephone replaced in its cradle. 

* * *

Alex glared up at the sign. It mocked him and he sneered back. No way. No way in hell was he going in there. 

_Gentlemen’s Tux and Formal Wear_ it read. 

“What the _hell_ are we doing here, Ben?” 

The older man exited the driver’s side, tucking a pair of sunglasses inside his coat. Nonplussed by Alex’s language, he gave the smaller boy a curious gaze. With a sigh he replied: “I don’t really know, actually. I was given one of the Bank's spending cards and told to buy you some formal clothing.” 

“Well, I’m not going in there.” Alex stated defiantly. To illustrate his point he plopped down heavily on the snowy curb outside the store. “I know that they’ve always wanted me to be their little obedient James Bond but a _tuxedo_ is the last straw!” 

“Alex…” Ben warned. 

“You’re not the boss of me, Ben.” 

Ben smirked. “You sound just like a child.” 

“Yeah,” Alex retorted moodily, “well you sound like a certain bastard be both know.” 

Pursed lips were Ben’s only reply. Checking that he locked the car, he walked past Alex to the stairs. The charcoal-haired agent hadn’t known Alex for long, but the recently-turned-fifteen year old had earned a special place in his heart. When they’d first met in Wales, Ben hadn’t known what to think of the diminutive blonde abruptly tagged onto his unit. The soldier found the situation suspect enough, but didn’t dare to voice his opinions. He hadn’t joined the military to ask questions, so Ben remained silently in the background. Since Alex had only been with them for a week and remained absent for more than a month, Ben had assumed that they’d never meet again and didn’t dwell on his misgivings. 

But then the incident in Bangkok… 

Ben paused at the door, shooting Alex a curious look. Why was the boy even here? He was barely old enough to drive, let alone stray ankle-deep in the Bank's business. 

Ben was drawn back to the present when he noticed Alex shiver. It had begun to snow again, a delicate powder accumulating on Alex’s shoulders. His butt was still resolutely glued to the curb, but he apparently had no sense of self-preservation. He wore no coat. 

With a long suffering sigh, Ben stalked back to the stubborn kid, hauled him over his shoulder (to much protest), and with a resolute face marched into the shop. 

“Put me down, Ben!” Alex demanded, pounding his fists on the coal-haired man's back. 

“Alex, for Pete’s sake!” exclaimed an exasperated Ben. But Alex got his wish when he dropped to the ground. 

As he stood and brushed himself off indignantly. “I could’ve walked in here myself.” 

Ben made a noise of disbelief. “It looked like you’d been frozen to the curb, really. Be glad that I brought you in when I did, you could’ve caught your death out there!” 

“Well I didn’t, did I?” was the snarky reply. 

“You know, you’re just an immature _brat!_ ” 

“And you’re a government _bastard!_ ” 

“ _Ahem!_ ” A loud cough interrupted their verbal warfare. Faces inches from touching, they glared at the humorless elderly man behind the counter. 

“WHAT?” They snarled in unison. 

Unfazed by their scare tactics, the bespectacled man simply stated, “If you wish to participate in such a rude disturbance please do so outside my shop.” 

Ben combed an agitated hand through his hair. “We’ll continue this conversation later, Alex.” He reached into his back pocket and handed the shopkeeper a card. The man took it somberly and glanced at its contents. 

“Ah, I see you already have the measurements.” He nodded approvingly, waving for the two spies to follow him into a room to the left. It was small. Body-length mirrors decorated the walls and a short wooden box stood in the middle. Shoved in the corner was a table that seemed to be having trouble containing all the pins, cloth, and measuring tools spilling off its surface. 

The man cleared his throat and gestured for Alex to step onto the box. As the boy grudgingly complied, the man introduced himself. “My name is Bartosz. I will be serving you young gentlemen today.” He cast an appraising glance over Alex as he stood awkwardly on the box. “I assume the young Rider is here for a tuxedo.” 

Ben nodded, seating himself on a nearby bench. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the comfort of the plush fabric before adding, “The best you have.” 

Bartosz grinned knowingly. “I’d recommend a Brioni. Judging by the similar appearance he has to his father, he’d fill the one I have in the back room nicely.” 

Alex started in surprise. “Wait? What? You knew my father? John Rider?” 

The elderly man smiled warmly. “There is some truth to spy fiction. Every agent needs first-rate formalwear.” 

As Bartosz limped off to a back room Alex turned to a smug looking Ben quizzically. 

“He’s been outfitting for MI5 and MI6 for years,” he explained. “Remembers every one of us. He doesn’t have any security clearance, though, so careful about what you say.” Here he shot a pointed look at Alex, clearly conveying _no funny business_. 

Said shopkeeper re-entered the room. Muttering to himself something about matching thread, he said offhandedly to the wary boy in the room, “Take off your clothes.” 

“ _What?_ ” Alex’s jaw dropped. 

Bartosz gave him a stern glare. “How else do you propose we fit you with a tuxedo?” 

“Alex, he’s not a perv, just your outer clothes.” Ben sighed long-sufferingly. 

The blonde shot him a glower. “I know that,” he snapped irritably, “but do you see what he’d have me wear?” 

Ben raised a coal eyebrow at the suit Bartosz handled with such care. It was a designer tuxedo, a Brioni, just as Bartosz had recommended. A deep black dinner jacket hugged a clean-pressed pure white button-up undershirt. Draped underneath was a pair of crisp trousers made of the same expensive fabric as the jacket. 

“You’re right,” Ben deliberated with faux contemplation. “That tuxedo looks downright evil. I’m sure the moment you put it on it’ll strangle you with its lapels.” 

“Just get it over with.” Alex sighed, hesitance defeated by Ben’s laughter. 

After stripping his clothes down to his underwear and undershirt he waited patiently as Bartosz helped him get into the suit. The size the shopkeeper had chosen from storage was almost perfect, and with a few tweaks, knots, and trims Alex felt the tuxedo embrace him like a straightjacket. 

“I also have a pair of shoes that I feel would compliment your dinner suit beautifully, sir.” Bartosz threw out hesitantly, watching the newly fit spy fidget with the collar of his Brioni. Alex looked over his new getup in the mirror before him. Unwittingly he was reminded of his parents’ wedding photos. His father had worn a Brioni and as son compared to father, Alex seemed little more than a younger version of John. 

But Alex also remembered the last time he’d worn a tuxedo seriously. It had been at his uncle’s funeral. He remembered the suit had been suffocating him, threatening to squeeze those tears out of his eyes that he’d been so resolutely containing since the doorbell had first rang so early in the morning. 

“I… I’d like that.” Alex admitted, voice cracking. The shopkeeper gazed at him inquisitively but wisely kept his mouth shut. 

As Bartosz exited again to search for the shoes, Ben and Alex lingered in silence. Alex waited, whether it be for Ben to ask him why his eyes were turning glassy or for Bartosz to return with the shoes, he couldn’t say. 

When Ben finally broke the silence, tearing his intense gaze from the ceiling, he caught Alex off guard with a carefully casual question. “So… why aren’t you in school, Alex?” 

The corners of Alex’s lips drew down and his eyes flickered from his reflection in the mirrors at his fellow spy's offhand question. “Why?” he repeated as if even he didn’t know the answer. Ben's brows furrowed at his reply. “I just can’t anymore.” 

“Why can’t you?” Ben queried for clarification. “You’d be an eleventh year now, right?” 

Alex nodded absentmindedly. “I guess.” He adjusted his tuxedo’s lapels again, tactfully avoiding the first part of Ben’s question. Any other comment that may have been made was abruptly cut off by Bartosz’s return to the fitting room. He practically beamed as he laid a pair of shiny black lace-up shoes at Alex’s feet. 

“I don’t get many customers your age, Mr. Rider.” He explained. “I never thought I’d have the chance to use these.” 

_I have to admit_ , Alex thought as he slipped into the pair of sleek shoes, _I do make a pretty picture_. For the moment he’d managed to shove any emotional memories to the back of his mind and banish the cursed watering of his eyes into oblivion. The rest of the trip went by in a blur. He agreed on the tuxedo and shoes and the next thing he knew Ben was sliding a card across the front counter, tuxedo, shoes, cufflinks, and tie packaged in a stiff white box. 

“Hold this,” Ben shoved the box into his grip, “it’s your thousand pound monkey-suit, not mine.” 

* * *

“BEN! Watch the road!” Alex yelled for probably for the fourth time. Said man swore loudly as he swerved back into the left lane, narrowly missing a head-on collision with a semi. They’d departed from _Gentlemen’s Tux and Formal Wear_ not that long ago, and already Ben swore he’d seen his life flash before his eyes at least twice. 

“You’re not a very good driver.” Alex ground out between clenched teeth. If he gripped the seat any tighter Ben could realistically see the boy's nails tearing right through the reinforced fabric. 

“I admit I’m not giving you a very good demonstration of my skills…” he confessed. The reason Ben was having such a hard time paying attention to his driving was Alex. The boy’s adamant denial to answer any question straight was really driving him up a wall. _And off the road_ , he thought darkly as he adjusted his course yet again. 

So far he’d learned that Alex was not currently attending school, was not bothered by the fact that he was being escorted to the covert headquarters of Military Intelligence Six, and had not been sleeping well. The latter was more of a guess on his part. Evidence was clear in his dull, drooping eyes with dark bags under them, the way he slouched in the seat (when he wasn’t screaming for Ben to “Pull left! Pull the bloody hell to the left!”), and when he had finally deigned to answer a question directly it had been that he usually stayed up late and woke up early. 

Although he knew he had no business prying, Ben felt an overwhelming desire to demand Alex tell him what the hell was up and why he refused to say anything about it. Something was obviously gnawing on the boy and it couldn’t just be his bad driving. He was chewing his nails to stubs and immersed deep in thought, occasionally rubbing his eyes awake. 

Before he could strike up conversation again the stone monolith of the Royal & General Bank loomed over his tiny car. The coal-haired man resigned himself to never receiving an answer to his questions as he pulled up along the curb. Ben glanced at the boy in question, surprised to find him glaring holes through the Bank's front doors. His vehemence had startled him at first, but Ben was slowly becoming accustomed to the air of darkness that seemed to cling to the blonde like a bad smell. 

As Alex unbuckled and opened the door, tuxedo box in hand, Ben found his mouth running away with him. “Whatever it is, I hope it turns out okay.” He received a strange look in return. _Oh well_ , Ben internally shrugged, _as long as I’m out on a limb…_ “Good luck, Alex!” 

All he got in return was the finger and a slammed door.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from FanFiction.Net. My second time posting fic to AO3, so please forgive all my mistakes!
> 
> Oh look, it's me! Sorry I've been gone so long. All my excuses are bad. This thing had been sitting on my drive awhile and I thought you all deserved it.
> 
> Also, I started a Tumblog recently. Follow me if you want.
> 
> pingnova dot tumblr dot com


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